Do Or Dye
by LisaT
Summary: Billy's the very model of a presidential aide—so when Roslin has a seemingly impossible request naturally he'll do his level best to fulfil it. Luckily, he knows just where to get help... Billy, A/R, spaceparents (sort of).
1. Chapter 1

**This story was inspired by a line I wrote in** ** _Natural Enemies_** **. It was intended as crack but the characters got away from me and it ended up as ... not crack. Although hopefully it will still raise a smile or two! It's set shortly after** ** _Epiphanies_** **.**

* * *

 _Theirs is not to reason why_

 _Theirs is but to do or die_

Lord Tennyson, _The Charge of the Light Brigade_

* * *

Billy leaned against the bulkhead outside the tiny restroom on _Colonial One_ sacred to Laura Roslin alone.

It was five days since the President's return to life from the brink of death. Two days since she'd been able to walk from one end of Life Station to the other without folding like a limp rag. Nearly twenty-four hours since she'd insisted on going back to _Colonial One_. No-one approved of that last; not Cottle, who'd complained about damned stubborn women. Not Adama, who'd looked more graven than usual and tried to talk Roslin out of it (Billy could have told him that was a waste of time). And certainly not Billy himself, who found the prospect of dealing with a recovering-but-frail Roslin nearly as frightening as the dying-but-determined version he'd known until now.

He jolted to attention as a low moan followed by a series of curses came through the gap along the bottom of the restroom door. Gulping, he rapped it lightly with a knuckle.

'Madam President?'

A second string of unintelligible noises. All the alarm bells inside Billy's head went off at once. Even three-quarters dead, he'd never known Laura Roslin to be anything other than articulate.

'Madam President!' Still nothing. Panic dispelled protocol and he bellowed, ' _Laura!_ '

He was about to bust the door (a possibility he'd investigated, planned and even tested as far as he could months before) when it opened unexpectedly. Startled, Billy stumbled backwards into the bulkhead behind him.

And stayed there because the President was _glaring_. At _him_.

 _Frak_.

Then she crossed her arms over her chest.

 _Double-frak._

'I'm so-' he began just as she said (rasped, rather; her voice was still recovering): 'We have a _problem_.'

Unspeakably relieved _he_ wasn't the source of the problem, Billy started babbling incoherently. Fortunately for him, Roslin's strength ran out at that point and she sagged, allowing him to catch her around the waist. At least _this_ scenario was one he knew too well and he steered her expertly through the curtain towards her private space.

'C'mon. Back to bed. You know what Doc Cottle said.'

'He's a bad influence,' Roslin half-slurred and Billy hid his grin in her hair, his panic ebbing. 'I'm still the Pr-President. Don't talk to me like I'm ...five.'

Choosing to ignore this, Billy left her for their little kettle station. 'D'you want tea?' He switched the kettle on without waiting for an answer, grin still in place. It was _good_ to be doing this again. He sent Roslin an affectionate look over his shoulder and paused.

She wasn't lying back as he'd expected. She was sitting bolt upright on the couch, wearing a melancholy expression on as one hand played with her hair.

Billy left the kettle to take care of itself to crouch before her; he was so tall that even like this their gazes were level. 'Are you OK?'

'Fine.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Madam President, we both know you can do better than that. That was one crap lie.'

'It's not a lie.' The grey-green eyes dropped; he was struck at how vulnerable she looked without the shield of her glasses. 'It's silly.'

'I don't care. Tell me.'

'Billy-'

His throat closed as he remembered how close he'd come to losing her, this woman who (for better or worse) had defined his existence for the best part of a year.

He took her hands and spoke fiercely. 'Whatever it is, it's not silly. If it's about you, it's not silly. It's _never_ silly.'

'Oh, Billy-'

She disengaged one hand to run it gently over his unruly curls, the tender touch reminding him of his mom and bringing tears to his eyes. Tears he tried to hide by staring fixedly at the silky fabric of Roslin's robe where it pooled in gleaming folds at her feet.

'OK.' The brisk tone made him look up. She took a deep breath. 'Right. Um, well, it's this.' She leaned forward to whisper, 'My roots are showing.'

He jerked back. 'What?!'

'I told you it was silly.' The President's chin lifted.

' _Roots-_ ' His voice failed him.

'Roots,' she repeated. 'I know, I'm vain. I noticed them a couple of weeks ago but then-' She shrugged. 'I didn't think I'd have to worry about it again-'

' _Worry_?!' He couldn't seem to do much more than parrot the odd word back.

'Hmmm.' She brushed a finger over his cheek. 'You still don't know much about women, do you?'

Indignation sent Billy surging to his feet. 'Madam President, you were _dying_.'

'I was. And now I'm not. Where's my glasses?'

Wordlessly, he handed them over.

She settled them into place with a precision he recognised. This was Roslin being presidential.

'I need you to do this for me. I need you to get me hair dye.'

He spluttered (what did he know about women's hair dye?! And where in the name of all the gods he didn't believe in did you even _find_ hair dye at the end of the worlds?!) until she patted the couch beside her.

'Sit. Come on. I know it sounds crazy, I do-'

Billy snorted but sat, thinking Dee was right. He was such a pushover when it came to this woman.

'Billy,' Roslin said and he looked up to meet her serious gaze. 'Everyone was expecting me to die. Gods, _I_ was expecting to die. And now I'm ... alive.' An odd expression ghosted across her features, one Billy didn't care to examine too closely. 'For weeks I've been a president in name only-' He started to protest and she shook her head. 'No, no. It's true. I need to take the reins back. I need to show everyone that I'm president in fact as well as name, especially with this election coming up.'

Billy frowned. 'Right. What's that got to do with hair dye?'

'Look at me,' Roslin said quietly and his frown deepened, confusion made plain. Her lips quirked as if she could read his mind; perhaps she could. 'Really, Billy. _Look_ at me. Look at me as if you've never seen me before.'

He obeyed, allowing his eyes to travel from her gaunt face down her too-thin body and back up again, his throat tightening as he took in the clear evidence of serious illness. He shifted his attention to her hair, trying to understand why the frakking hair dye was so important. It was still there, wasn't it? It wasn't as if she'd taken diloxin or something that'd make it fall out-

 _Oh_.

Even his inexperienced eyes could see the long red-brown locks needed _something_. They seemed dull and brittle, the blue tinge of _Colonial One_ 's overhead lights emphasising the silver threads that clustered along the President's centre parting.

He expelled a long breath and Roslin squeezed his hand.

'You see. You're good at this, Billy-' (he heard the echoes of Admiral Adama saying _She thinks you'll be president someday_ in those words) '-but there's one thing you've gotta understand. Politics is about style as well as substance. It's not enough to _be_ powerful, you have to _look_ powerful too, convince everyone that you deserve to hold those reins and that you're not gonna let the horse run away with you.' The lines around her eyes crinkled as she smiled. 'And right now, that means hair dye. It's OK for the admiral to look grizzled, it makes him look experienced. For me ... I'd look weak. Old. Out of control.' She finished with a beseeching look and Billy capitulated.

 _Sucker_ , his inner critic jeered. He ignored it with an ease born of long practice; the critic sounded exactly like the bullies from his school days.

'OK.' He had to clear his throat. 'I'll get you your hair dye, Madam President. I promise.'

His inner critic sighed. _You silly frakker. How the hell are you gonna do_ this _?_

Even Billy had to admit the critic had a point.

* * *

Admiral Adama nearly choked on his bowl of noodles as Laura's aide finished making his request. The boy seemed nervous-more nervous than he'd been in a long while-and Bill couldn't blame him, given what he'd just said. Wiping the soup spillage from around his mouth, he eyed the young man over the top of his glasses.

'Hair dye. She wants you to get _hair dye_? From _me_?' He didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.

But Billy was shaking his head.

'No, sir-or not exactly. I guess, uh, I didn't know where to start. I thought that maybe, maybe you could help.' A pause and Billy delivered the killer blow: 'Because it's the _President_.'

If it'd been anyone else Bill could have- _would_ have-sent them packing with his sternest glare and several swarms worth of fleas in their ear. It wasn't something he could do to this boy, this staunch, steady boy of Laura's who'd stayed unflinchingly by her side throughout that hellish and seemingly final time in Life Station ... Besides, there was no point beating around the bush. Billy _knew_. He'd probably never mention it, but he _knew_. He was there the night Bill was promoted; he knew what happened next.

 _A kiss before dying..._

The words from a half-remembered song floated through Bill's head and his jaw clenched. Laura wasn't dead and if he had anything to do with it she wouldn't die until long after he himself was gone. And in the meantime ...

He sighed. Their teacher-president had trained her aide well. Billy had the Admiral exactly where he wanted him.

'Fine,' he grunted. 'I'll see to it.'

The boy's face lit up, much to Bill's carefully hidden amusement. He indicated the chair opposite with a chopstick.

'Sit. How the frak she land you in this one?'

Billy practically squirmed. 'It's uh, it's my job, sir.'

'Finding hair dye?' Bill kept his voice absolutely level but Billy's face flamed.

'There's a good reason-'

'Course there is.' The Admiral slurped the remainder of his soup and sent Billy a near-smile. 'This is Laura Roslin we're talking about. Woman's _always_ got a reason.'

'She thinks people won't respect her,' Billy blurted and Bill raised his eyebrows. 'She does. That's what's really behind it, she thinks that if she doesn't look ... look _perfect_ the people will think she's weak.'

Bill huffed at that. 'That's crazy talk. Laura's the strongest person I know.'

'She's thinking about the election.' Billy's shoulders slumped. 'Already.' When he glanced up the older man could see the worry in his eyes. 'She's still sick, sir. Cottle says it could be a couple of months before she's recovered. She's gonna want to push and I-I don't know how to stop her.'

'You can't, son.' Bill put his bowl on the table and turned, giving Laura's aide his undiluted attention. 'And I dunno, maybe you shouldn't.' He swallowed; what he was going to say didn't come easy. 'Truth is, without all this, without the Cylons ... Laura would be dead now. The attacks, being president, those things gave her something to live for. Something to fight for.'

'But the prophecy-' Billy looked miserable. 'She believed it, sir. She really did. And I think part of her feels ... betrayed.'

'If she does, that's on me,' Bill told him quietly. 'Not you.'

'I wanted her to live as much as you did.' The younger man's voice was rough. 'She's-she's-'

Bill went to sit beside him, one hand resting between the boy's shoulder blades. He could feel them beneath the too-large jacket, childishly sharp despite Billy's great height.

'You love her, son.' He felt Billy twitch beneath his fingers and shook his head. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of.'

'She's my boss. She's the _President_!'

'She's also your family out here.'

Billy's head came up to reveal glassy eyes. Bill remembered Laura telling him that Billy's entire family was on Picon, one of the first planets to be devastated in the attacks. Had the boy ever had time to process his loss? Given his position, Bill rather thought not.

'I couldn't be with my parents when they died.' Billy dashed a hand across his eyes. 'Or my sisters and their kids. But Laura-' He shook his head and Bill wondered if he realised he'd used the President's given name. 'She needed me and I could help. I could _be there_ , even when-' Billy's hands covered his face, fingers digging into his hair.

Bill found his own eyes were wet. So much suffering, so much loss, and no sign of it stopping any time soon. He allowed one hand to circle comfortingly on Billy's back, thinking ruefully that he'd always been a better father to other people's children than to his own.

'It's OK, son,' he said softly as shudders rippled through the younger man's lanky form. 'It's OK to grieve. Gods know I have. If you need some time, Laura would give you-'

'I can't, sir.' Billy raised red-rimmed eyes to his. 'She needs me. She _trusts_ me.'

'And she loves you, Billy. She'd want you to have this. Trust _me_. It's OK to let go for a while, I won't let Laura fall.'

Quiet descended, broken only by the constant thrum of _Galactica_ 's engines beneath their feet and Billy's hitching breaths as he struggled to get himself under control. Eventually he was able to sit upright and Bill saw his eyes were clear, the haunted look of the past weeks gone from their depths.

 _He doesn't look it, but he's got a pair, this kid. Like his boss, stronger than he seems. The things he's had to do ... Fleeters know what they're in for. Billy was just an intern along for the ride when the Cylons came._

'Better?' the Admiral said, emotion turning him gruff. He half-expected Billy to blush, but he didn't.

'Much. Thanks, sir.'

'Never be ashamed of what you feel. It's what makes us human. Different from the Cylons.'

'I know, sir.' The familiar earnestness was back. 'I appreciate it. This.' He indicated the space between them. 'I, uh, I needed that more than I realised.'

'You need a frakkin' break, son.' Bill pushed himself to his feet. He eyed the young man (not a boy, he'd never think of Billy Keikeya as a mere _boy_ again) over his glasses. 'Don't worry about Laura's hair dye. I'll see to it.'

Billy grinned, showing an unexpected hint of mischief.

'Good luck with that, sir.' He crossed to the hatch and paused, his grin verging towards a smirk. 'It's "Autumn Leaf", by the way. The hair dye.'

'Bloody woman,' Bill grumbled, safe in the knowledge that Billy of all people would hear the affection beneath the words. 'Why couldn't she be a blonde like everyone else?'

Billy laughed. 'President Roslin, blonde?'

'You'd be surprised.' Bill hid a smile of his own. He nodded at the hatch. 'Get off my ship, Keikeya, and go keep our president out of trouble. I've got hair dye to find.'

'Yes, _sir_!' Billy sketched a perfect salute (so perfect that Bill's eyebrows went up) and he was gone, leaving the Admiral to pull his phone from its cradle with a disbelieving shake of the head.

Billy's mission was over. Bill's was only beginning.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks hugely to adamaroslin-love and guest for your lovely reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed the first bit and hope you enjoy this bit too. It ended up both fluffier and slightly crackier than intended, but ... oh well.**

* * *

Laura allowed her head to fall against the tall back of her chair. It'd been a long day and she was exhausted; her very eyelashes hurt and her neck muscles protested as she rotated her head. Even 'cured' cancer was still a bitch, she was finding. Her cells might have got the message and stopped the runaway division that was killing her—everything else, not so much. As Cottle kept saying, her body needed time.

She knew that. She _did_. Gods, she could see it every time she looked in the mirror and saw the still-present hollows in her cheeks and the papery quality of her skin. Never to mention her hair ... She ran a hand through it and groaned. It felt like straw, dry and brittle, and she knew it looked as bad as it felt. The sheer number of split ends alone would have sent her favourite hairdresser back on Caprica into a rage and as for the _colour_ ... She grimaced, imagining his reaction.

'Laura darling, I hope you haven't been reading those magazines again. Trust me, sweetie, the badger look is _never_ good one.'

Once—when she'd been crazy busy and regular visits for colour a hassle she could do without—she'd voiced a wish to let nature take its course and allow her hair to fade to grey. She'd inherited her mother's red hair; it wasn't unreasonable to assume that it would turn the same elegant silver hers had, that last good year before the cancer struck.

Before diloxin made it fall out, of course.

Jonny waxed highly indignant at the mere suggestion. Yes, silver was elegant and classy ... but she was _far_ too young for that as yet. Give it twenty years, he'd said with a flattering wink, and Laura was charmed into agreeing to regular appointments to maintain her colour right until the Cylons came.

She'd noticed the grey really peeping up when the _Pegasus_ arrived and Cottle told her she'd be lucky to make it another month. Crisis followed crisis and those last few weeks simply flew by ... until she was on her deathbed and the colour or otherwise of her hair simply ceased to matter.

And then Baltar. And the cure.

And now here she was. Alive ... or getting there. Every day she gained back a smidgeon of what she'd lost, but in the meantime her bones continued to ache, her stomach to churn, and her energy levels were only marginally higher than before.

Billy still hovered. Bill wasn't much better. She wasn't the only one who needed time; it would take a while for them to believe she was recovering. Nor did it help when she looked like death warmed up-and not properly warmed up either, just barely tepid.

Fixing her hair would help with that, if Billy ever managed to fulfil her request of a week ago. Not that she'd blame him if he didn't; given their circumstances, the chances of him finding "Autumn Leaf" were pretty frakking low. She knew he'd do his level best and in the meantime, his quest got him out of her hair, pun not intended. She could relax from trying to look relentlessly recovered all the time. If, as now, she wanted to flop across her desk for a nap...

Hmmm. A nap. That sounded good...

'Madam President?'

Laura bolted upright so fast her head pounded. She met Billy's knowing gaze and felt her cheeks warm.

'I was, uh ... looking for something.'

'Sure.' Her aide sounded politely sceptical and she summoned enough energy for a half-hearted glare. He went to the kettle, pausing to flash a cheeky look over his shoulder. 'That was crap too, ma'am.'

She ignored him in favour of a stretch, trying to ease the kinks along her spine. 'Tea?'

'Coffee. Admiral's on his way.'

She blinked. 'Oh. He usually calls—'

'No point,' Billy said, coming to lift a pile of papers from her desk and dumping them on his own. 'He came back with me.'

'Right.' Laura's eyes narrowed as she studied the young man. 'You were with Dee?'

'Yeah.' Something in his tone made her glance sharply at him, but his gaze was shuttered and she let it go. He'd tell her if he wanted to and she wasn't his mother. She'd no right to pry. He held out his arm. 'Come on.'

She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. 'I can get up myself, you know.'

Billy smiled the smile she'd come to love. 'Yeah, but admit it. Right now it's easier with help, huh?'

'Hmmm.' She sighed and settled into one of the deep comfy passenger chairs at the back of her office. 'You're too perceptive for your own good but I think I'll let you off, _this once_ -'

'Believe me, ma'am, that paperwork is the best punishment you could ever devise.' The look he sent towards his burdened desk made her laugh.

'That's good to hear,' another voice said and Laura twisted to smile up at Admiral Adama. She started to stand but he waved her back. 'Stay put, Laura. This is a social call.'

'Coffee, sir? It's already on,' Billy ended with a grin and Laura's eyes widened. She'd never seen her aide so comfortable with _Galactica's_ commanding officer before.

'So long as it's the good stuff, go for it, son.' Bill lowered himself into a chair at right angles to Laura's, reaching to take her hand, and she experienced a flash of deja-vu.

 _Never give up hope._

'Good to see you, Laura.' A swift, assessing glance up and down. 'You're looking better than the last time we sat here.'

'Feeling it too.' She plucked at the fabric of her skirt. 'It's slow, though—slower than I'd like. There's so much to do-'

'It can wait,' he said, his thumb brushing over her fingers. 'Take your time. We need you strong, Madam President.'

'I can't,' she whispered. 'There's an election coming up, Bill. I told the people I was the Dying Leader who'd bring them to Earth. Well, I'm not dying now, am I? I don't look like much of a leader either, I'm just another tired middle-aged woman-'

'You're being too hard on yourself,' Bill interrupted. 'Not every day you come back from the nearly-dead. It'll take—'

'Time. I _know_. Gods, Bill, d'you know how sick I am of hearing that? We haven't got _time_. Thanks to Lee, an election's happening in two months and no-one's gonna postpone it because of my health. Nor should they. This fleet's been held hostage to my health for long enough.'

'Here,' Billy said, handing coffee round with an efficiency that made her wonder if he'd worked as a waiter during his student days. He started to retreat but Bill called him back.

'Sit,' he said, pointing to the empty seat beside him. 'Social call, remember?'

Laura blinked when Billy relaxed visibly. 'Only if it's okay with you, Madam President.'

'Always.' She leaned forward to pat his knee. 'So,' she went on, looking from one to the other, 'as this is _just_ a social call, what's going on?' She permitted herself a smirk. 'Never thought I'd see you two become buddies.'

'We wanna help,' Bill said, holding her gaze with his. 'This is hard, Laura. Our lives. Our jobs. And Gods know, coming to terms with nearly dying—that's all kinds of frakkin' hard. I _know_.'

'Boomer,' she breathed and he nodded.

'Yeah. Comin' back from that-' Bill shook his head. 'And I'm a soldier. I've done it before, I knew what to expect the first time I regained consciousness. But you-'

Laura put her cup down before she spilled it and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. 'I never ... I never expected to-' Her breath hitched.

'You expected to die,' Bill went on in that warm voice of his that never failed to steady her. 'Maybe you were even ready to die.' Something resembling guilt shifted behind his eyes and vanished, leaving her wondering if she'd imagined it. 'I'm not gonna apologise for bringing you back. We need you too much. Right, Billy?'

The young man nodded so energetically that Laura found herself laughing through her tears.

'The prophecy-'

'Frak the prophecy.' Bill's jaw was hard. 'I'd rather have you than some prophecy that might not even be true. And even it is... I'd still rather have you.'

Laura stared (that was as frank a declaration as she'd ever heard) and Billy, bless him, turned a rich shade of pink.

'Uh, I think I'd better-' He gestured towards the curtain. Bill's brows came together and both men talked at once.

'Don't you wanna wait until-'

'I thought you'd prefer to-'

' _Gentlemen_ ,' Laura said in a tone honed through many years in the classroom. 'Let's cut to the chase. What's really going on here?'

Her companions exchanged glances evocative of schoolboy conspiracy and she followed suit, playing her own role by crossing her arms and eyeing them over the top of her glasses.

'Well?'

'Go on,' Billy prompted, his blush fading, and Laura turned to her Admiral.

'Bill?'

He shifted in his seat, one hand opening the top of his jacket to reach into it. Laura's eyebrows went up as the hand reappeared, holding a clear sachet of something ... something that looked like a small clay block stamped with the Tauron crest.

'Here.' Bill took her hand and pressed the sachet into it. 'It's for you.'

Laura examined it. She knew she should recognise it, the name was on the tip of her tongue-

'Henna,' Bill supplied, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 'For uh ... Your hair.' He gestured towards his own.

' _Oh_.' Her breath expelled in a rush.

'It's not exactly what you wanted,' Billy jumped in. 'That um, "Autumn Leaf" stuff? Couldn't get it anywhere, even Mrs Tigh didn't know-'

'You asked Ellen?' Laura squeaked, cheeks burning.

'I did,' Bill corrected. 'Made up some story.' He shrugged. 'Think she bought it, never tell with her.'

'Oh my _gods_.' Laura covered her eyes with one hand.

'Then we set Apollo to combing the black market,' Billy continued as Laura gave a small moan of embarrassment. 'Still no luck.'

She allowed her hand to drop. 'And?'

'The Admiral remembered women on his home world using henna to dye their skin and hair. We asked on _Galactica_ , nothing. Ditto _Pegasus_. Then Cottle-'

Laura's head snapped up at that. 'Did you _have_ to tell the whole frakking _fleet_?! Talk about being punished for vanity!'

Billy smirked. 'Yeah, and imagine how I felt asking the Admiral for help-'

'Or how I felt being asked,' Bill interjected and Laura sent him a look. She knew him well enough to detect the amusement bubbling beneath his stoic surface.

Resigned to the inevitable, she sighed. 'So, Cottle?'

'He suggested putting a request out, like we did for chamalla. Apparently it has medicinal uses.'

'Covering grey hair is _not_ medicinal,' Laura grumbled. 'Gods, I dunno how I'm ever gonna look these people in the eye again.'

'With a full head of red hair, Madam President,' Bill said and she sent him an evil look. He grinned. 'Go on, Billy. Might as well finish.'

The younger man shrugged. 'Not much more to tell. Cottle put the word out. Galactica got dumped with henna in all its forms. Ishay said that was um, the most suitable.'

'Do you know how to use it?' Bill asked.

'Hmmm. Yes, I used it once before.' Laura smiled wistfully. 'My sisters always envied my hair. Cheryl, the youngest, was blonde as a girl—closer to red-gold, really, but she yearned for proper red. I mentioned it in the staff room one day and a colleague suggested henna.'

'Did it work?' Billy asked.

Laura laughed, relaxing at the memory. 'Very well, as it happens. Cheryl was delighted. Our mother-less so. She loved Cheryl's hair.'

'Did you get in trouble?' Billy grinned.

Laura rolled her eyes at him. 'I was nearly thirty, Billy. What was she gonna do, ground me?'

'So? My mom tried to ground me last—' He broke off, turning away, and Laura's throat constricted.

'Billy,' she called. He didn't turn and she staggered to her feet, waving away Bill's assistance. 'Billy-'

'If there's nothing else, Madam President.' He sounded choked and she put her hand on his shoulder, compelling him to face her.

' _Billy_.' Laura looked straight into his eyes and put a hand on his cheek. 'I'm sorry.' Her thumb caressed his skin. 'I won't keep you, just—' She used his tie to tug him down, allowing her to press her lips to his forehead. 'Thank you. Really. For everything.'

He was scarlet, glassy-eyed. 'It was not-'

'It was _not_ nothing,' she cut in. 'It was everything and it meant a very great deal, to me personally as well as the fleet. Now go. Rest, read ... anything but work. Just take some time, hmmm?'

He nodded jerkily and left, shoulders slumping more than usual as he vanished through the curtain. Laura watched him go, biting deep into her lip to suppress her own tears.

She felt Bill reach for her elbow and turned to face him.

'Kid's overwhelmed. Give him time.'

She blew out a breath. 'There's that word again.'

'Sit,' Bill ordered, putting an arm around her shoulders. She allowed herself to lean on him for a moment and then he was moving, steering her to her seat and folding her fingers around her cup handle once she was settled. 'Drink.'

Needing the warmth more than she cared to admit, Laura obeyed.

'Better?' Bill asked, brows peeping up behind his glasses.

'Much. Thanks, Bill.' They exchanged a long, slow smile. When Bill's hand found hers once more she entwined her fingers with his. 'He's such a rock, I forget how young he is—or how much he's lost.'

'And found, in you.' Bill's eyes were knowing as she shook her head. 'You needed him but I think _he_ needed you, too. Gave him something to focus on.'

'Hmmm.' Her head fell back against the deeply cushioned back of her chair. 'Still doesn't excuse what I put him through. Kid goes through the end of the world, loses all his family and friends ... and finds himself stuck with me, a dying president. _Gods_ , Bill. I know what I went through with my mother and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. To see someone waste away like that—' She shuddered.

'You're not wasting away any more. We're gonna fatten you up, don't worry,' Bill said, grin flashing in and out in a brief glimpse of mischief. 'I set my chefs to seeing what they could do to algae.'

She shuddered again, a hand going reflexively to her mouth to stem the nausea. 'What a thought.'

'Nah, we're doin' better than that. _Colonial One_ is gonna be the best fed ship in the fleet for a while.'

Laura eyed him warily. 'Meaning?'

'When the news broke that you were gonna live ... ships startin' sending food, real food, for you. First to _Galactica_ and then here.' Bill leaned in. 'Gaeta tells me there's some prime steak in there.' The longing in his tone resonated, even as she sent him her most presidential stare.

'Admiral, is this you angling for a dinner invitation?'

Bill smirked. 'How'd you guess?'

'Hmmm. The words "heavy" and "hint" come to mind.'

'Did it work?'

Laura studied him, her gaze shifting to focus on the block of henna he and Billy had sourced for her. Her lips twitched as she imagined that initial conversation and the others that succeeded it—with Ellen Tigh, with Cottle, with gods-knew-who-else... It was a lot of effort to go to for the sake of soothing one woman's vanity, president or no.

She lifted the henna and smiled. 'I guess I owe you. For this. And,' she continued as he tried to speak, 'I'll invite Billy too. He deserves it.'

'That he does.' Bill surprised her by dropping a quick kiss on the hand he still held, blue eyes twinkling. 'Thank you, Madam President. That's a very ... adequate compensation for all our trouble.'

'That's good to know. It is,' she added as he rose. 'What, you're going already, Admiral?'

He stood before her in a familiar pose, hands clasped at his waist. 'Things to do. People to see. And it's late,' he ended gruffly. 'You need your rest.'

'Uh uh, Bill. You don't get away that easily.' Laura pushed herself upright, ridiculously pleased when the movement took less effort than she'd anticipated.

She stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek, using a finger to remove the traces of lipstick left behind. 'Thank you. For everything—and don't _you_ say "nothing" too!'

He pulled her into a hug, enfolding her in his warmth. 'Always a pleasure, Laura. Good to have you back with us.'

She felt him start to move away and hummed in protest as the gap between them filled with _Colonial One_ 's cool recycled air, her fingers snagging along the opening of his military jacket to pull him close. Bill paused and she hummed again, this time with satisfaction.

'Laura—'

She tilted her head back to look at him. 'I know. I know. Things to do, people to see...I hear you—but I don't wanna let you go—'

Bill said nothing, merely lifting a hand to stroke the wayward hair back from her face.

Laura smiled.

His gaze turned thoughtful as he continued winding threads of her hair through his fingers.

Their eyes met and Laura held her breath, heart skipping erratically. He was going to kiss her properly, she knew it, and this time—

'I see what you mean,' Bill said, and mingled disappointment and confusion made her gasp.

'What?'

He twisted the lock he was stroking so she could see it. Silver glinted all too noticeably amongst the red.

Annoyed, Laura twitched both lock and her person out of his grasp with a waspish, 'Thanks for pointing it out. Now I know chivalry really is dead.'

'Just makin' sure we didn't go to all that trouble for nothing.' She huffed. Oblivious, he pointed at the henna. 'Gonna try it tonight?'

'Might as well.' She couldn't help the peevish note that crept into her voice. For a moment there she'd thought she might be doing something more exciting.

Bill frowned. 'By yourself?'

'I won't fall over, Bill. Contrary to what you, Cottle and Billy seem to think, I'm not made out of glass.'

'Wait,' he said and she glared, irritation joining the pile of negative emotions he seemed intent on evoking this evening.

'I'm sorry?'

She saw Bill shift, as though uneasy. 'That head of yours, it's not big enough to swing a cat. My ex-wife ... the boys' mother, she dyed her hair every time the weather changed. I thought. I, uh, I know it's messy. Wouldn't it be easier to do on _Galactica_?'

Laura raised an incredulous eyebrow. 'In the communal head? With your crewmen?'

Now it was his turn to scowl. Clearly it'd finally dawned on him that her mood had soured. 'Dammit, Laura! In my _quarters_.' A pause. 'I'll, uh, I'll help. If you like.'

She considered it. Considered the fact that his head—whilst larger than any to be found on _Colonial One_ —was still anything but large. She wouldn't be wearing much more than a robe because Gods forbid she should get henna on one of her few precious suits. If Bill helped, that would be ... well.

It would be interesting. _Very_ interesting indeed.

Irritation fading, Laura met Bill's eyes before deliberately dropping her gaze to his mouth, allowing him to read her thoughts in her actions. He shifted again and she knew— she _knew_ —that he was more than uneasy.

She chortled inwardly. Two could play this game.

'I think that would be a very good idea,' she said softly, taking his arm to lead him to the curtain. 'I _do_.' He tried to stall but she whipped the curtain back, utterly destroying any illusion of privacy. 'Tory will show you out, I know you're very busy,' she added loudly as one of her junior aides approached. 'Your assistance with ... these matters has been much appreciated, Admiral. Good evening. I look forward to seeing you again ... _soon_.' With that, she restored the curtain to its proper place and leaned against the nearest seat, a hand going to stifle the giggles that wanted to come at the memory of Bill's expression.

He looked as if he didn't know what had hit him.

She glanced across at the henna and a gentler smile curved her lips. He _did_ deserve her thanks and he would get it, in full measure. But not tonight; she hated to admit it, but (teasing aside) she was tired and longed for rest. For once it held some appeal; if she rested she would recover her strength more quickly.

And then...

That night she fell asleep clasping the henna bar—and for the first time in many years, smiling.

 _Fin_

* * *

 **Don't forget to let me know what you think!**


End file.
